


Until Then, We Can Start Again

by honilaba



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone is happy (for the most part), F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Fog, Rated T for Tswear words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honilaba/pseuds/honilaba
Summary: A look into the lives of Survivors and Killers alike, after the Fog.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Jake Park, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	1. Jake and The Shape

**Author's Note:**

> hi, here's my stupid self-indulgent lil fix-it sort of fic. there will be more chapters about various characters. I've never posted anything to ao3 before so pwease be gentle with the criticism
> 
> title is from "Start Again" by Two Door Cinema Club

When the Entity had died, everything had been a mess. Everything in the Fog was slung around in some huge interdimensional tornado, items and people alike. Jake didn’t remember all that much about their final escape — he remembered being hit in the head by a trash can, passing out, and waking up in a forest somewhere.

Oh, and Michael Myers’ weird latex mask was there with him.

Jake had had no clue what to do with the thing — it didn’t seem right to just let it collect dust somewhere, but he didn’t exactly want to hang it up on his wall as a trophy, either. In the end, it ended up on the bookshelf of his little wood cabin, used as a morbid decoration of sorts. Jake would have thought he’d feel uncomfortable, staring at the mask of someone who had killed him multiple times, but strangely enough, he didn’t. It was almost comforting sometimes, looking at it and knowing that he had overcome something _so_ much worse than any petty problems he had to deal with.

Not that Jake had a lot of problems — not when he lived out in this forest, in his cozy little cabin, surrounded by beautiful nature. He took care of himself, hunting and foraging, barely ever having a need to go to a big city. People were annoying, and out here, he didn't have to deal with any. Except for his friends from the Fog who visited him a few times every year, nobody really came to his cabin.

That changed, one evening. He had been cleaning, tidying up his cabin, dusting tabletops, and washing windows. Even though he lived alone, it was nice to have his surroundings clean.

Satisfied with his work, Jake had made himself some tea, ready to relax with a thick book and his hot drink. He placed his cup on the table, sitting down on the comfortable couch, opened the book, and‐

Someone knocked on his door.

He jumped, almost spilling his tea in the process. What? Why would there be someone at his door? None of his friends had told him they were going to visit him, and they knew he wasn't a fan of surprises. Maybe it was an emergency? Jake did have a phone, though, so why didn't they just call? Maybe whoever it was didn't have their phone with them? Maybe-

The person at his door knocked again.

Hesitantly, almost scared to make a sound, Jake made his way to the door. God, he wished he had installed a window or peephole on it. His hand instinctively picked up the axe leaning next to a pile of logs by the door. As quietly as possible, he slid the lock open. Slowly, _slowly_ , he turned the doorknob. The wooden door creaked open.

Outside stood a complete stranger. A man — tall and almost intimidating, if it weren't for his mild case of babyface — wearing a black t-shirt and blue overalls, sleeves tied at the front of his waist. The stranger had curly hair, dark brown, framing his pale face. His eye colour was impossible to tell in this light, but Jake could definitely tell that one of them was injured. A large vertical scar crossed the man's left eye, which was cloudy and white. Definitely not a working eye anymore. 

Jake shook himself out of his thoughts — he'd been staring at the guy for a bit too long, even if the stranger didn't seem to mind. Still, social protocols told him to speak.  
"Hey, um, who are you? I mean, can I help you?" Jake asked. How was he supposed to greet a complete stranger anyway? The guy hadn't even said 'hi' yet.

...Actually, it seemed like he had no intention of speaking at all. He just stood there, staring, breathing, wearing an unreadable expression on his face. Jake waited a few seconds before speaking again.  
"Hello? Anybody home?" He waved his hand in front of the man's face. "I don't have all night, so if you don't need anything, don't waste my time."

Still nothing. _What a weirdo._ Sighing in annoyance, Jake went to close the door, but was promptly stopped by a big hand forcing it open again. The hand was followed by the man himself, pushing through the cabin's doorway, surveying the room.  
"Hey, what the fuck are you doing? You can't just barge into someone's home!"  
How the hell was he supposed to react in this situation? Some strange man knocked on his door, and was now forcing himself into his home — it wasn't exactly an everyday happening. 

Gripping the handle tighter, Jake raised the axe, holding onto it for dear life.  
"Listen, either you get the fuck out of my house," he warned, trying to sound at least a little bit intimidating, "or I'm gonna have to force you out."  
The stranger barely glanced at him, looking completely unfazed by the threat. His eyes — or rather, his _eye_ — stopped at the bookshelf by the couch, and he approached it with purposeful steps. The man reached out a hand, grabbing the latex mask on the middle shelf. He studied it in his hands for a moment, before putting it on.

"If you're looking for something to steal, you've come to the wrong place. I've got nothing valuable here, including that old mask. And I've already seen your face, so it's not gonna help you hide anything."  
The stranger still didn't respond, simply turning to look at Jake through the eye holes of the mask. His breathing was audible against the white latex inside. With the guy's physique and behaviour, he looked just like the mask's owner.

A couple more seconds passed before it finally clicked for Jake.  
"Oh." He could feel his whole body tensing, arms shaking from the force he held the axe with.  
Michael Myers. Michael _fucking_ Myers, infamous psychopathic murderer, was here, in his home, standing right in front of him.  
This wasn't the Fog — if Jake died here, he was _actually_ dead. Permanently.

The weapon felt useless against the man before him. He'd seen firsthand what kind of monster Michael was — a dull axe would barely do any damage. The man's cherished kitchen knife was missing, but it didn't matter. Jake knew the killer could easily snap his neck with his bare hands if he wanted to.

Michael took a few steps forward, stopping no more than a foot away from Jake. The shorter man's knuckles were white from gripping the axe handle, but he couldn't move away, frozen in fear. A large hand reached out, and Jake could do nothing but close his eyes and await his doom.

A warm pressure enveloped his shoulder. He hesitantly opened his eyes, confirming that yes, that was Michael's hand resting on his shoulder.  
He wasn't sure what to do or say in this situation, but it didn't matter — after a few seconds, the hand was gone just as quickly as it came. The killer looked at him for another moment, then promptly turned on his heel, exiting through the door and leaving a confused Jake behind. Finally regaining his ability to move, he went over to the open door. He looked outside, but Michael was nowhere in sight, already having stalked off into the dark woods.

He closed and locked the door, still quite concerned, but not as scared as before. For some reason, Michael hadn't hurt him. The hand on his shoulder even seemed like a comforting gesture of sorts, strangely enough.  
Jake slumped down on the couch again, glancing at his cold and long-forgotten tea, sitting beside his book on the table. He didn't really feel like reading right now, not with the adrenaline his body had been pumping for the last few minutes.

Grabbing the book, he went to put it back on the shelf, but something caught his eye. The spot where the mask had been wasn't empty. A bunch of fresh flowers laid there, probably stolen from someone's garden, if he knew Michael right. Thanks to Claudette's botany training, Jake recognised the flowers as hyacinths, in a lovely shade of purple.  
Why would the killer leave him this? He'd have to ask the botany expert what this meant, but that would have to wait for another day. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unnecessary flower sumbolism? in MY fic? it's more likely than you think.


	2. Tapp and The Pig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two former enemies make awkward eye contact in the vegetable aisle of the grocery store.

God damn it, did this store not have a _single_ ripe avocado? Tapp just wanted some damn guacamole for the nachos he was making, but this task seemed to be harder than any of the unripe fruits he kept poking at. All he wanted was to spend his Friday night eating, drinking beer, watching TV, and _not_ thinking about his past.

As he stood there, deep in thought, a woman came up on the other side of the vegetable stand, looking at the price of some potatoes. Tapp instinctively glanced up at her.  
She had short hair, medium brown and a bit unruly, but not too shabby. Her pale hands were steady as they went to pick up a couple of potatoes, putting them in a transparent plastic bag.  
Feeling the former detective's stare, she looked up at him, Amanda's eyes locking with his own.

Neither of them knew what to say. Amanda was a murderer, yes, but there had been no news of Jigsaw in the time they'd been out. Besides, Tapp wasn't in law enforcement anymore, so he couldn't exactly _arrest_ her. He had no proof, either. Plus, there weren't many reasons to personally hate her — except for the numerous times he'd died by her hands — since she hadn't really been involved in the death of his partner.

Still holding eye contact, Amanda gave a quick nod, to acknowledge that 'yes, I recognise you'. Tapp returned the gesture. She stared just a moment longer before grabbing her bag of potatoes and walking away, disappearing in the aisles of the grocery store. He was thankful that the desire to not talk was mutual. 

_Well, that was incredibly awkward._  
He sighed in both relief and exasperation, going back to his search for a ripe avocado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call Tapp by his last name because "David" gets confusing lol


	3. Freddy Krueger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck freddy krueger, all my homies hate freddy krueger


End file.
